


A Bit of Bite

by Dracoduceus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Human Jesse McCree, Intercrural Sex, Jesse McCree's danger kink, M/M, Mentions of blood and gore, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Vampire Hanzo Shimada, mostly porn with a hint of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 00:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: Hanzo had always been afraid that it would be a deal breaker for McCree to learn his secret. He wasn't sure which was worse: McCree's disgust or knowing that McCree was with him because he had a vampire fetish.That was surely the only explanation, right?It turns out that it was very much a non-issue.





	A Bit of Bite

**Author's Note:**

> For once not directly inspired by [IchigoWhiskey](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey)'s art, but I have the feeling that she's to blame for this somehow.

“You’re going to give me the wrong idea,” McCree huffed, breathing hard. His hands slipped in the sweat that pooled on Hanzo’s back and he cursed. “It’s a nice view and all,” he continued as he sat back. His shifting weight made Hanzo hiss and bite harder into the pillow as the angle changed. McCree stopped and Hanzo swallowed a feral snarl. “ _ Such _ a nice view, but…darlin’ it almost seems like you don’t wanna see me.”

Despite it all the cowboy sounded  _ hurt _ . Hanzo forced his teeth back enough to slur, “perhaps I simply like it this way.”

McCree chuckled. The sound made Hanzo shiver. It was too warm, too affectionate; Hanzo buried his face in the pillows, grateful that McCree didn’t try to force his head up.

He’d enjoy it—he’d always liked his hair being pulled—but not right now. Not when McCree could  _ see _ …

Could see the way that his face had changed, the way his eyes glowed as pale blue as a glacier.

Could see how his teeth had lengthened into scalpel-sharp pieces of bone made to pierce flesh. They had already punctured the pillowcase as Hanzo had lost his mind in something other than the all-consuming blood-hunger.

It was another kind of hunger, one that was strangely addicting and found only in the warmth of McCree’s hands on Hanzo’s chilly skin. He was warm—warm enough to pass as human in all but IR lenses—but McCree felt like a furnace, like hot coals. McCree’s touch brought a warmth to Hanzo that he hadn’t felt since he had been turned.

“What if I don’t?” McCree asked quietly. Hanzo thought that if his hearing wasn’t more sensitive, he would have missed it. It didn’t matter much, given how distracting McCree’s hands were as he stroked reverently along Hanzo’s lower back and tailbone, thumbs dipping down to the lube-slick stretch of Hanzo’s rim. 

Hanzo gritted his teeth into the pillowcase and groaned, shuddering and clenching around McCree’s well-endowed girth. It had taken quite some time for Hanzo to work up to taking it—he was still fallible, could still feel pain, after all—but once they had figured out that little trick, they were almost literally inseparable for a month straight. McCree loved watching Hanzo take him and Hanzo loved that overwhelming fullness he got from being stretched so wide. 

At the sensation of McCree fucking him—the feeling that if he thrust hard enough, he’d feel McCree’s cock in his throat.

Hanzo wondered sometimes what would happen if the tables were turned. If  _ Hanzo _ were the one splitting McCree wide. Rocking slowly into him, watching his rim soften for him. Feel him shudder as he felt the great girth of Hanzo’s cock splitting him open. Feel the warmth of his body, feel him whine as Hanzo’s cooler cock fucked him open. 

_ Oh _ , Hanzo would love to feel McCree jolt, clench helplessly around him as he came. As he pumped McCree full of his come, cooler than McCree would expect. 

He’d love to have his arms wrapped around McCree’s waist as he made him ride in his lap, his back arched to keep his hips moving while he kept his shoulders still as Hanzo bit into him...

Hanzo jerked himself out of his most carnal fantasies—a combination of his terrible hungers—when McCree continued, his hands sliding over Hanzo’s ass, his thumb dipping between his cheeks to pet at Hanzo’s rim. “What if I want to see what you look like…like this? What if…”

It was endearing the way that McCree sometimes couldn’t speak without turning red. It made Hanzo want to chase that flush with his mouth.

The thought terrified him even as it made his own pulse throb eagerly.

Hanzo wanted that too. He wanted to wrap his legs around McCree’s waist and feel the press of his lips against his throat. He wanted to ride McCree’s lap and sink his fangs through skin and muscle, to feel the blood well up and slide, warm and coppery and  _ wonderful _ down his throat.

Behind him, McCree sighed and shifted back. He slid out with a wet sound and Hanzo whined around the pillowcase still caught in his teeth. Had he missed McCree coming? Did he miss something? 

But McCree just stepped back. “Sorry,” he said softly. “Just...I guess I’m not really in the mood.”

Hanzo breathed as McCree padded into the bathroom and closed the door. That tantalizing edge that had been so close was now gone and he felt like a fool with his face buried in the pillows and his ass high in the air. 

Snarling—McCree couldn’t hear him through the door and over the splashing of the shower—Hanzo wiped himself down and pulled on some clothes. He was still worked up but this time it wasn’t arousal. 

It was a different type of hunger and for the first time in a long time, he was afraid that he would devour McCree. 

Swallowing hard, Hanzo left Stormbow behind and walked out into the cool Gibraltar night.

* * *

The conversation—and his failure to respond, to reassure McCree, to do anything but sit there like an idiot—continued to weigh on him while he hunted.

In the end he had to bury his kill: he had taken his frustrations and bloodlust out on it, and it had been torn into pieces too small to be consumed.

Despite having that outlet of his inexplicable aggression, Hanzo felt it still boiling beneath his skin when he returned to the base the next morning. It made him angry, it made him pace. Genji kept his distance and his brother’s wariness caused the others to do the same.

Everyone but McCree, who treated Hanzo as if he had no idea what was happening.

Who played stupid, the country bumpkin, who pretended not to see the way Hanzo paced and stimmed. Hanzo knew that he had seen it; he could see the way that McCree’s dark eyes tracked him as he paced, as he bounced his leg, as his hands closed too-tightly around his ceramic mug, enough that his knuckles turned ghostly white.

It was refreshing as much as it was frustrating, gave him a normalcy that he didn’t know he craved.

Didn’t he know what he was doing to Hanzo? What he was doing with his casual acceptance of his terrible mood, with how close he sat to Hanzo, as if to form a barrier between him and the rest of the team—to give  _ them _ a sense of peace that somehow also riled Hanzo up even more?

In some ways what irritated him the most was McCree’s casual attitude. As if he hadn’t walked out in the middle of sex. 

As if it wasn’t a problem that Hanzo hadn’t joined him in the shower. 

As if he didn’t care at all that Hanzo was so angry. As if Hanzo’s frustration—which must simply seem like sexual frustration to McCree—wasn’t something to be upset about. 

(Later, Hanzo knew that he would be...not pleased but certainly appreciative that McCree hadn’t retaliated, had acted the way he did. Knowing this in the present only served to irk Hanzo even more.)

So irritable and hungry, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was summoned for a surprise mission.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Genji tried to petition for Hanzo to be left behind; it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he had been overruled.

But he was.

And he was surprised when he calmed from his hunger-fueled rage to find McCree there, standing in front of him. Bloodied—that’s what had set him off, he remembered distantly, McCree had been hurt and he had been  _ so scared _ —and battered but alright.

Alive.

And holding Hanzo’s face as if completely unafraid.

As if he wasn’t aware that his wrist and the vein there—radial and ulnar arteries, not veins—was  _ right there _ , so close to Hanzo’s fangs. They were fully extended. Hanzo could feel them poking out from his lips.

There was no hiding what he was.

Hanzo could see the pinpoints of blue light from his unnatural eyes reflected in McCree’s dark, human ones.

There was no denying what he was; there was no way that McCree didn’t know, now.

He closed his eyes, afraid of what he would see.

McCree’s eyes jumped, shifted minutely as he took in Hanzo’s appearance. His bloody face, the viscera that clung to his fangs and lips and clothes; his messy hair, his glowing blue eyes. McCree swallowed and that drew Hanzo’s attention to McCree’s throat, to the flutter of his pulse just barely visible through the scruff of his neck.

“Is it weird that I’m turned on right now?” McCree asked in a strangled voice. The kind of voice that he got when Hanzo was really teasing him, was  _ really _ riling him up. “Like… _ really _ turned on?”

Hanzo shuddered as McCree eased his head forward, pressing their foreheads together. Clearly he didn’t care about the coppery smell of blood and the way it clung to Hanzo’s hair, or how it stuck their foreheads together. “I really… _ really _ wanna kiss you right now,” he whispered. “But I don’t know what’s in that blood all over you.”

Surprised, Hanzo rocked back before letting his head be drawn back toward McCree’s face again. This time their noses brushed. “We…we should go.”

McCree hummed. “Probably.” He didn’t seem to have any intention of letting Hanzo go.

In the distance, sirens wailed. Hanzo didn’t know if McCree could hear them.

“We should go,” he said again. “Someone will see.”

McCree grunted and stepped back. Despite himself, Hanzo almost hated how he brushed everything off and went back into business-mode. He already missed McCree’s warmth.

There was a smear of blood on McCree’s forehead that he used the edge of his serape to clean. “You good?” he asked and adjusted his pants, drawing Hanzo’s attention to the way they bulged obscenely over McCree’s groin, stretched around his erection.

Hanzo’s eyes lingered and then lifted back to meet McCree’s. “For now,” he said carefully around his elongated fangs. “I will remain out of sight.”

It was obvious that McCree wanted to ask more but now even he could hear the sounds of approaching sirens. “See you at the rendezvous point,” McCree said, tipping his hat at Hanzo.

Nodding, Hanzo walked backwards and jumped over the edge of the terrace.

* * *

The arid Numbani heat, most prevalent outside of the city itself, dried the blood coating Hanzo into cakes that cracked as he walked. It was a most uncomfortable sensation, and he listened to the crackle of his clothes as he picked acacia thorns from his hair.

It seemed that the tree he had jumped into upon leaving the terrace had not appreciated his stunt.

The thorns couldn’t pierce his skin—they were too weak for that—but they  _ could _ tangle in his hair.

“The Himba people in Namibia coat themselves in a mixture of paint and minerals to protect against insect bites and sunburn and the like,” McCree said and Hanzo’s head whipped to him as he hissed. The cowboy didn’t seem too bothered and tipped his hat at Hanzo amicably as he leaned against a wiry scrub brush that marked one of the hiding spots of their two-person craft. “It leaves behind a reddish tinge to the skin and hair.”

Seeing where this was going, Hanzo made a face. “I need a shower.”

McCree made a noise that was neither agreement nor displeasure but somehow seemed to encompass both. “Need some help?”

Hanzo walked up the ramp and into the small two-person craft and didn’t answer.

“I always liked me a man with some bite,” McCree said. It was something he had said often, usually as he was mouthing along Hanzo’s bare shoulders, pressing kisses to his neck. Now Hanzo had to wonder how much  _ bite _ McCree truly liked. 

He winced when his clothes crackled with dried blood as he sat in the pilot’s chair and began preparations for takeoff. A moment later McCree joined him and began sending coded messages to Winston with an update on their status and their projected return time. 

Winston replied almost immediate:  _ take the long way home. Make sure you’re not followed _ . 

Once they reached cruising altitude, Hanzo set the autopilot in Athena’s capable hands, and stood. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said sourly. 

“Do you...uh...want some help with that?” McCree asked, his eyes already dark with arousal. He adjusted his pants again

Hanzo regarded him thoughtfully. “You may assist me,” he decided. 

He had fed well in Numbani; he could control himself around McCree, even in such close quarters. Though  _ why _ McCree might want to join him was beyond him. 

Hanzo grimaced when his clothes shed fine pieces of dried blood like red dust and stepped into the disinfecting spray without undressing. May as well rinse them off at the same time.

“Fuck,” McCree groaned and Hanzo turned in time to see him shuck his pants and underwear just outside of the shower, his erection bobbing between his legs. It looked painfully hard, the shaft flushed red and purple as a drop of precome formed and began to fall. “That was hot.” 

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Hanzo ducked his head under the spray, glad that Winston had at least given them the better two-man shuttle. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to control himself if left to sit in dried blood for the many hours they’d be trapped together while returning to base. 

“Is that all I am to you?” Hanzo asked, lips thin. “Just a fetish? Some romance novel desire to fuck a vampire?” 

Hands wrapped around his waist. “Oh, fuck, no; that ain’t it at all, babe.” 

“Then what is it?” he demanded as he reached for the soap. He squeezed more in his hands than he probably needed but he felt dirty, almost as dirty as he had felt when he had...when he and Genji…

“Here,” McCree said softly, taking the bottle from Hanzo’s hands. “Let me.” 

Hanzo’s breath hitched. Continuing to whisper soft nothings, McCree ran soapy hands over Hanzo’s blood-stiff clothes and over his bare arms, gently easing away the blood that felt ground into his pores. He worked his way around Hanzo as he slowly broke apart. 

“Babe,” McCree whispered as he carefully cleaned Hanzo’s hands. He brought his clean knuckles to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss before starting on the next one. “If you think this is a deal breaker —if you think that this had ever been an issue for me before—then you’re wrong.”

His words made Hanzo shiver. “How long have you known?” he asked, his stomach sinking. 

“Always,” McCree replied as if it was nothing. “Genji told me,” he added. “Before we met, back in Blackwatch. He told me you were a vampire, then.” 

Hanzo sucked in a breath. “So all this time…” he trailed off, not even knowing what he wanted to say. 

Looking concerned, McCree crept closer, let his hands slide along Hanzo’s sides. Another spurt of red in the spray as McCree dislodged more dried blood. “Oh,” McCree breathed. “Oh sweet, were you concerned?” Despite his poor wording, his tone was far from pitying or mocking. “Did you think that I would reject you if I knew?” 

Closing his eyes, Hanzo wished that the water would drown him.

He wished that that would actually kill him. 

McCree thoroughly distracted him by pressing whiskery kisses to his shoulders. “Babe, no,” he whispered. 

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo growled through his teeth. A part of him was irrationally furious that McCree wasn’t terrified, that he didn’t react at all to him growling, as if he truly wasn’t afraid of Hanzo. He couldn’t help but think that McCree was either very brave or very foolish. 

And of all the things that he knew of McCree, he wasn’t a fool. 

“I’m sorry that I was concerned,” he bit out as his fangs fought to slide into place. “That you might see being with a creature like me as unnatural—or worse, as a  _ fetish. _ ” 

McCree’s hands stilled and he moved in front of Hanzo, peering down into his face. “Is that what you think this is?” he asked quietly. “Do you think that I am with you because it’s my fetish? Something I get my rocks off to? No, Hanzo. I agreed to a relationship with you even knowing that you were a vampire—I agreed to the physical aspects of our relationship as well  _ knowing that you were a vampire _ , so this,” here he moved to gesture between the two of them, “this isn’t me being unaware of nothing, babe.”

“Who would want to be with a vampire?” Hanzo persisted, looking away. “Unless it’s some kind of…” he trailed off with a noise of frustration. 

“It ain’t a fetish,” McCree snapped. Despite his obvious frustration, his hands, which rubbed soothingly against Hanzo’s sides and arms, were gentle. “Ain’t nothing like that. It took some getting used to, the thought of being with a vampire, but I care about you, Han. I really do. That’s why I’m still around. You son of a bitch, I actually fucking love you.” 

Surprised, Hanzo looked up; McCree seemed just as startled. “How can you love me?” Hanzo asked, his voice far weaker than he would have liked. “Vampires hunt humans.” 

“Is that why you’re in a relationship with me?” McCree shot back. “For a free meal?”

“Never!” Hanzo hissed, nearly insulted. When McCree only looked smug, he realized that he had been led into a trap. Hanzo scowled. 

“Then why is it so unbelievable that I want to be with you?”

Growling, Hanzo tugged himself free of McCree’s hands and began yanking his wet clothes off. They clung stubbornly, released more dried blood into the water, and McCree helped him, gently easing his  _ gi _ off and helping him to step out of his  _ hakama _ .

“Do you find this arousing?” Hanzo asked a little bitterly. “You wonder why I am...hesitant-”

“Wouldn't call it hesitant,” McCree grumbled.

Hanzo ignored him. “-yet here you are insisting that this isn't a fetish for you while you have an erection.”

“Maybe I just find you hot,” McCree shot back. “Maybe instead of having a vampire fetish I have a you-fetish. A Hanzo fetish; obsessed and hopelessly turned on by everything you do. Especially when you come down from a blood fever.”

Swallowing hard, Hanzo turned his head away.

“Let me thank you, sweet,” McCree murmured. “You saved my bacon back there. Let me thank you for it. Let me help ease you down from that high.” Still looking away, Hanzo nodded once. 

As much as he wanted to deny it, McCree was right. The blood he had stolen was like a high in his body, still working through the lingering adrenaline. He'd been told that it was like a caffeine high but caffeine no longer had any hold over him. 

McCree pressed a kiss to Hanzo's cheek, then his neck, his chest. He worked his way down, grunting as he took a knee in front of Hanzo. 

Then his mouth was on Hanzo, around him, swallowing him down. It was something they so rarely indulged in, Hanzo never sure that he could control himself, but it was times like these that Hanzo wondered why. McCree's mouth was  _ hot _ , his lips just the right kind of tight around him, the long pulls of tongue and throat sublime. 

And he clearly enjoyed it, immediately beginning to bob his head, his fingertips digging into Hanzo's hips, encouraging Hanzo to rock his hips; to fuck McCree's throat. Hissing, Hanzo obeyed, unable to deny such a request. 

It was a battle to keep from forcing McCree's head down to hear and feel him choke. From his flushed, drooling, blissed out face, McCree wouldn't mind. 

“Have you practiced this on others?” Hanzo snarled, irrationally upset at the mere thought. He didn't let McCree answer, forcing his head down when he tried to pull away to speak. “You know that vampires are known for their inhuman stamina. Do you think you are up for the task?”

McCree whined, swallowing around Hanzo's cock. His eyes rolled, tearing up as the tip of Hanzo’s cock nudged into his throat and Hanzo swallowed. He could feel his fangs wanting to bite down into the thick muscle of McCree’s shoulder, wanted to feel him shudder and buck and writhe on his teeth. 

Snarling, Hanzo buried his hands in McCree’s hair and came.

He watched McCree’s eyes water, watched his come bubble out from around his stretched lips. McCree jolted, jerked, surprised that Hanzo hadn’t warned him and surprised, no doubt, at the temperature. Nonetheless he swallowed and swallowed, his throat working around the tip of Hanzo’s cock as his face turned redder. 

Gasping, Hanzo released McCree’s head and let him draw back. He licked his lips obscenely, catching a bead of white with his tongue before it was whisked away. 

“That all you got?” he taunted and Hanzo snarled. 

* * *

McCree gasped, his hands scraping ineffectively at the walls of the shower. He gasped as Hanzo crowded closer, his cock shoved between McCree’s trembling thighs. His foot slipped and Hanzo gave a low, rumbling growl that turned his insides to mush. 

“You wanted this,” Hanzo taunted him, his voice inhuman as he rutted against him, his rough thrusts sending McCree against the wall of the shower. 

He would be bruised and battered by the time they made it back to base but it was worth it. Hanzo mouthed at his back and shoulders, his tongue slapping wetly against McCree’s slick skin. He could hear him  _ sniffing _ , filling his nose with McCree’s scent. 

McCree tilted his head, exposing more of his shoulders and Hanzo obeyed, mouthing at the muscle and tendons, the edges of his deadly fangs poised, tempted to bite down. 

Hanzo was full, had gorged on blood during the battle. There was no danger of him going overboard now, of bleeding him dry. 

He hadn’t realized how much he  _ wanted _ , how he wanted Hanzo’s teeth in his shoulder, his mark in his skin. 

“Please,” he gasped. “Please Hanzo.” 

The vampire snarled. A part of him was terrified—Hanzo was a predator of men and such sounds were meant to draw instinctive terror—but the overwhelming majority of himself was turned on. 

He could probably come just like this, his thighs fucked while he tried to keep his shaking knees to stay together. With Hanzo’s teeth in his shoulder. 

“I shouldn’t,” Hanzo said, even as his mouth lingered on his shoulder, at the thick bulge of his trapezius. His next growl was too low for McCree to hear but he could feel the rumble of it where Hanzo’s chest was pressed to his back. “I want you so badly.” 

McCree’s hands slipped on the walls again. “Please, Hanzo. Make me yours?” 

With a final snarl, Hanzo did. His teeth sliced through skin and muscle as if they weren’t there. The pain of it—even though he had expected it—had McCree screaming, coming in helpless spurts against the grey walls of the drop ship. 

Hanzo gave a few more shaky thrusts before he came for the fourth time that day, snarling into McCree’s shoulder as blood bubbled up around his lips where they were clasped deep in the muscle of McCree’s shoulder. 

For a while the only sound was the wet sound of Hanzo feeding off of him, the movement of his teeth in McCree’s shoulder. Soon the pain had faded into euphoria as Hanzo’s venom took effect, numbing the area. 

Reluctantly Hanzo pulled away, pressing bloody kisses to the open wound. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was a short thing to clean off the wound and then dry the two of them. Hanzo had to support the both of them, but in no time McCree was resting beneath the golden glow of a small biotic generator. 

“Stay,” McCree whispered drowsily when Hanzo would have returned to the pilot’s seat. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Hanzo chuckled and lay down beside him, tangling their naked legs together. Soon they were both fast asleep. 

* * *

Genji paced at the edge of the landing strip. 

“I would have avoided it if I could,” Winston said apologetically, not for the first time. 

“It’s fine,” Genji gritted out. 

Hanzo had been doing so well. He’d done everything he could to not fall back on the supremely bad habit of feeding off of humans. 

He hoped that McCree had been able to lock himself away. He hoped that Hanzo hadn’t been lost to a blood lust. He hoped that he’d have a brother  _ and _ a best friend come out of it alive. 

Waiting for the drop ship to return, Genji paced. Soon the dark grey shape came into view as it began its descent, wobbly beneath the hold of autopilot. When the hatch descended and nobody was there to greet them Genji feared the worst and darted aboard.

_ “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” _ Athena said from the speakers. 

Genji ignored her. He could hear noises now, wet smacking sounds and breathy little gasps.  _ Jesse _ . 

Fully prepared to have to fight Hanzo off, Genji threw open the door and froze. 

He had heard wet smacking sounds alright, but it had not been the sound of a feeding vampire; he had heard breathy gasps and grunts from Jesse but it hadn’t been noises of him trying to escape, to beg Hanzo to stop. 

No, it was very, very different. 

The wet smacking sounds were from Hanzo’s rocking hips, from— _ oh spirits, Genji didn’t want to think about what was making that sound _ . He made a sickened sound, croaked out a horrified gasp. 

Hanzo snarled possessively, yanking harder on McCree’s hair so that his back arched. His face was blank, his lips wet with drool as McCree’s face rolled in a bliss that Genji had never wanted to see in this context. 

He never wanted to think about what those two did in the privacy of their own bedroom. Now, seeing it here, it was somehow even more horrific. 

Spirits, he would never get that image out of his head, of the way that McCree’s body rocked with each punishing thrust, the wet sound of some kind of lube, the flush on McCree’s cheeks; nor would he get the image of Hanzo’s predatory smile as he fucked harder— _ oh fuck his brother was fucking _ —

Genji bolted for the door and dashed off the drop ship. The panel near him beeped when he finally stopped dry heaving.  _ “I told you so,” _ Athena said smugly.  _ “I expect they’ll be at it for quite some time.” _

It was probably just his imagination, but Genji thought he could hear McCree moan, and Hanzo’s roar. 

This time he really did throw up. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and yell at me on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm going to try and post things more regularly there, such as updates, maybe small previews, and other projects I'm working on. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> ~DC


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